


Windows to the End

by Pennstram



Series: This world our own (SPN Advent Calendar 2020) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Bittersweet Ending, Episode: s05e04 The End, Introspective Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), SPNAdventCalendar2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27883492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennstram/pseuds/Pennstram
Summary: He thinks about it often, what could have been. What should have been. This was not the world as it had been written.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: This world our own (SPN Advent Calendar 2020) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041642
Kudos: 17





	Windows to the End

**Author's Note:**

> So I've decided to do the SPNadventCalender on tumblr but have it set in the Endverse timeline. ... should be good angst filled fun.  
> Obviously they probably won't all be posted on the correct day but uh-- hopefully I'll fill all the prompts.  
> Day 1: Advent Calendar

He thinks about it sometimes. In the quiet of the empty cabin. In stillness between harsh breaths and bitter words. He thinks about it. About what could have been. 

Should have been. 

He thinks about how he should have been the one to protect them, save them. How he should have done more. But that was before. Before his grace dwindled and died. Before he became human. Became a liability. 

He thinks about it now. With snow building up along creaking window sills. With the cold seeping into his exposed body. Sharp and stinging where burning fingers ghost over bruises and scrape over scars. 

He should have been the one to bring about their salvation. 

Now he only feels it here, in the icy drafts of their shack. With calloused fingers dragging along his skin. Reverence in every demanding touch. Sparks igniting with each press of lips. One on the corner of his mouth. On the underside of his jaw. On his collarbone. His sternum. Right below his belly button. 

He was the holy advent, each door pulled back. Open and raw before it’s time. A countdown to the ending they knew was coming. An ending they didn’t acknowledge in the quiet December night. The ending of him, of them, of the whole God damned world. It was reverence they didn’t deserve. He didn’t deserve. 

He should have saved them. 

He was meant to give this Righteous man the world. Now he could only lay there and accept each press of benediction. Let him take and take and take all that was freely given. Let him strip away the doors and behold each tarnished treasure within. He thinks he’d gladly give them all up, if only to keep the prayers breathed into his skin. 

As if he were still something amazing to behold. As if he had anything left to give behind that last door on his chest. As if he wouldn’t be alone the next night. As if they still meant something. 

He thinks about it often, what could have been. What should have been. This was not the world as it had been written. Yet it’s the only one they’ve got.


End file.
